


Broken rules and exceeded expectations

by Blushing_starker



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom Peter, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, M/M, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Praise Kink, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Kissing, Slurs, Sub Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blushing_starker/pseuds/Blushing_starker
Summary: There’s unspoken rules in their relationship, things that should be honored and respected. Tony doesn’t want Peter kissing him when Morgan is in the house. Won’t give him five extra points even if Peter sucked his brain through his dick right under the classroom desk. Peter will leave bloody trails on a tanned back if his skirts and stockings are ruined. No booty calls while he’s hanging out with his friends. And, one of the only rules they both agreed on, no fucking in school. Actually, no fucking in campus, dorm room included. Today, Tony has managed to break nearly all the promises they technically never made.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Kudos: 55





	Broken rules and exceeded expectations

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: consensual, definitely consensual but these two idiots don’t talk about it beforehand, it’s explicitly consensual though, no worries, degradation, so much degradation, slurs, again consensual, dirty talk, dom!Peter, sub!Tony, I assure you they had loads of aftercare afterwards, praise kink, not really pet play but the phrase ‘good boy’ is used, Peter wears a skirt, heels and stockings, mentions of choking (light, like one sentence), um, Tony is pinned down. 
> 
> I'm on mobile, so not all the tags I'd like to use are available/accesible.
> 
> Reposted from my blog on tumblr, some words needed letters to be replaced with numbers due to the censorship.

He’s not 100% certain how it started, this come and go relationship with Tony. Sure, Peter could accuse, could lie and say his professor was being unprofessional, manipulative and overwhelmingly powerful. The other students might whisper how he purposely played coy, a whore with fangs acting like a trembling sheep in need of a good fucking. It’s not like he’s unaware of the looks they send his way, pretty boy in a skirt couldn’t possibly have an iota of knowledge besides knowing how to enthrall poor souls with a mouth painted red.

Thing is, and he’s thought about this for months, they’d all be wrong. Tony wasn’t a predator, or prey. Peter doesn’t have the capacity to seduce a stranger, let alone a man his parents consider family.

The world thinks they had schemes, plans to capture each other. Another notch on their belts, another broken heart. But it’s not like that. In fact, it’s much simpler. It was Ned Leeds’ fault, at least one third of it; whether everyone else believes it or not is a different matter.

——-

There’s unspoken rules in their relationship, things that should be honored and respected. Tony doesn’t want Peter kissing him when Morgan is in the house. Won’t give him five extra points even if Peter sucked his brain through his dick right under the classroom desk. Peter will leave bloody trails on a tanned back if his skirts and stockings are ruined. No booty calls while he’s hanging out with his friends. And, one of the only rules they both agreed on, no fucking in school. Actually, no fucking in campus, dorm room included. Today, Tony has managed to break nearly all the promises they technically never made.

He’s lifted, pinned against the ridiculously high bookshelf in Tony’s office so harshly bruises are already forming. Hands, suddenly reverent and sweet, smooth over the worn out band tee too thin to keep out the cold. An apology, he supposes. But not something long lasting because his lover, for lack of a word that encapsulates the ache and hurt and joy and peace that defines Tony Stark, continues his ruthless conquest.

Peter’s grateful for the little edge the shelf has at the bottom, just above the cabinets holding more volumes. It’s the one thing besides a ravaging beast holding him up. Of course, it’d be much better if he weren’t in high heels.

“Tony,” it’s a gasp, pained and high pitched as sharp teeth sink into his collarbone with no remorse, “Tony, what’s going on?”

A growl, so out of place in this office where students come to quietly plead and beg for mercy, that all the hair on his body rises the same way it does when they watch a scary movie. He wonders if maybe it’d be better to act like his classmates and ask for Tony’s reconsideration with misty eyes and a small voice. It’s worked before, crocodile tears coming out to play with his lover’s darker desires. Couldn’t hurt, really. And then there’s a very audible rip and any thought of behaving like a polite young man dies alongside his patience.

“Did you just ruin my new stockings?” Ned used to say he only ever got afraid of Peter when he was angry, when his voice got sickenly sweet and gentle, when the trap was put up. If you valued your life, you’d learn to find the steel in that voice and run as soon as it was identified. Tony, at least, stops his ministrations. Doesn’t dare move his hands from the crime scene. Pretending you’re a saint only makes the devil madder.

Peter rakes blunt nails over a stumbling pulse point, tightens long legs around Tony so he can’t escape. “I asked you a question.” Sing song now, as giggly as a kind Disney princess. The man trapped by his best nightmare and worst dream tenses, attempts to hide next to the bruise he so thoroughly painted on a pale neck. Peter’s never liked cowards.

He yanks at expertly combed hair, snarls out his next words, “I said, did you just ruin my fucking stockings when I have a class with Beck in thirty minutes?”, is secretly pleased when spit lands on a flushed cheek. Tony has that look in his eye, not quite dear or ecstasy, just abandon and Jesus Christ, Peter doesn’t have the time for this.

It’s not hard, pushing off from the book shelf so they lose balance and Tony crumbles into a chair behind them. Leather beneath curled fists, and oh, yeah, this’ll do nicely. Peter lunges forward, practically crushes already faulty lungs while hunting down lotion in the cabinet nearby. Isn’t surprised to find what he needs. What does startle him enough he freezes is something pink. Pretty and pink and

“Oh, Tony. Is that it, you were feeling lonely and needy and cockstupid so you wanted to jerk off in the office? Preferred the real thing and couldn’t take it anymore?” His professor, for all his PhDs and awards and book deals, can’t connect the dots and furrows his brow. Peter picks up the pink strip, trails it over Tony’s shoulder and bares his teeth when recognition makes him blush a new shade of red.

“I’ve been looking for this bra everywhere, you know. Thought MJ might have borrowed it for a date. Should have guessed a slut like you would hoard it.” The man flinches, hurt curling his lips down, down, down. But Peter knows Tony enjoys a bit of pain when vulnerable. Has a neat list of dates in his mind’s eyes, instances where he showed the upper hand and Tony didn’t hesitate to roll over in submission. They may not have a clear idea on what they are, but he’d never hurt Tony in a way that he didn’t like.

Still. A hand strokes warm cheekbones, lips flutter over ruby scratches and he nuzzles closer. “This ok, Tony?” The softness here isn’t a lie, isn’t a game of chess. Peter will drop this whole thing in a second if his partner feels uncomfortable, no hesitation. He’d rather go to class hard in a ruined skirt and stockings than break Tony.

But this man is full of surprises. Clears his throat a couple of times and Peter is there, snatching a water bottle close to the chair and insisting Tony drink a few gulps. Fumbles around in his pockets for a granola bar, is kissed gently but rejected. He leaves it on the shelf just in case.

“I know this is different from what we’ve done, and we should really discuss it like responsible adults afterwards because it’s important and new. But,” Tony sighs, rests his head on Peter’s shoulder and breathes in deeply, “but I really like where this is going. And maybe it was kind of on purpose, on a whim except it wasn’t, I’ve been thinking about this for weeks on end. I tried getting off to you, and then I remembered the rules and God, nothing makes me harder than when you take control, so gorgeous and fierce and mine. Long story short, I’m a coward who can only try things under time pressure to ensure I don’t back out.

"I understand if you want to leave. You wouldn’t be the first. I’d get over it and we could act like it never happened. That’s fine. I never wanna make you feel bad.” Peter thinks his heart might crack open on the spot.

“Wanna know what I’m thinking about right now?”

“Hmm?”

“Ned.”

Tony jolts back, entire body trying to melt into the chair. Peter pulls at him, growls until his lover tentatively settles down.

“I’m thinking about Ned because he was the one that dared me to wear a skirt to school. Your class, specifically. I’d been driving him crazy the entire semester, planning out strategies, worrying over asking out my insanely hot professor, getting scared at the last minute and then deciding to hook up with whoever was around. Until MJ sat me down, Betty taped me to a chair and Ned started a game of truth or dare. Except the only thing they did was dare me to kiss you, or leave roses on the desk. I said no, it’d be too easy for me to back out.” He runs a hand through previously gelled hair, delights in the shiver that gets him.

“Monday morning, they took off my pants, burned them and told me to wear the skirt or show half the campus my underwear.” Tony chokes, splutters against his chest and that was basically Peter’s reaction back then.

“So I get it, having to throw yourself into something because you know you’re afraid of it. I’m, I’m definitely up for this, you have no idea how hot it is to see you like this.” A groan and shudder this time, the movement right beneath his ass. “I’d ride you until you screamed out my name, but we can’t do that because I have class in, crap, fifteen minutes. Are you ok with this?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“I promise I will, now please, Peter, I’m dying here.”

Those are the magic words. Gone is the considerate, kind lover who cared about assurances and selflessness. He doubts Tony will mind.

With a flick of his wrist, his skirt is flipped up and the guttural noise that leaves Tony when he catches sight of white panties has Peter cursing Beck for giving a class at the unholy hour of 1pm. Hands, shaking, trembling in what he’s sure is excitement try to tug down the lingerie. They’re slapped away, pinned to the armrests and held there.

“No. You wanna act like a needy bitch interrupting my lunch for a quickie, not think about me or my plans because your cock was more important? Fine. I would have sucked you off under the desk, let you choke me and make me cry.” Tony scrambles forward, intent on convincing him that they could still do that, Peter could still do as he’s saying and yeah, any other day, sure.

But, “But no. You had to break the rules, rip my new clothes and act all moody, rutting like a dog against me, didn’t even let me sit, just pinned me like an animal, a beast and expected me to what, roll over and let you come in me before a two hour class?”

His lover is shaking now, eyes cloudy and Peter wants to ravage and break and ruin. He shoves Tony back with a snarl, lowers the increasingly tight panties and almost empties out the bottle of lotion just because he can and he wants to be slick. There’s a perfectly good d1ck ready to go under his lap, yet that’d be nice for Tony and the thing Peter definitely doesn’t want to be right now is nice. So obviously he grinds down.

His lover spasms, tears holes in the armrests and Peter laughs. “It’s obvious, now that I think about it. You were trying to rile me up, weren’t you, my needy bitch? Wanted me to take control and show you who’s boss. I’m disappointed, Tony. If you’re gonna make a plan, at least be original. This is probably,” he strokes himself at a fast pace, immediately has to bite down on his tongue to hold back the tidal wave that approaches when Tony’s eyes desperately latch onto him like a drowning man seeing a shadow on the horizon, “probably the least imaginative thing you’ve ever done.

"What would the others say? The great Tony Stark, a genius, the futurist, the saviour of our generation thinking with his d1ck and not even that went well, did it?” He keeps jerking off, mindful of the clock by the door and how much seeing a wrecked Tony makes his body ache in all the right places. Hesitantly, nervously, the husk of a great man arches his throat, bares a column of tanned skin.

It’s a sign of submission. Tony, the infamously domineering playboy, is telling Peter Parker to ruin him further.

He doesn’t last long after that. Sinks his teeth into Tony, shakes him a bit when cold fingers try to trace the edge of his ripped stockings. “Those aren’t the rules, honey. And good boys who get rewards follow the rules, don’t they?” It’s exhilarating, wrenching Tony’s head back and seeing how tears have started dripping down. Causes his ego to skyrocket and they’re doing this every single week because the dopamine rush is unlike anything else. Then again, it’s Tony. The man has lead Peter to a thousand firsts.

His lover behaves, grips the chair for dear life and attempts to stay still beneath Peter’s grinding, unknowingly presents an interesting opportunity. “You can touch me, if you’d like. But only if you repeat after me.” Suspicion mixes with excitement, gives Tony enough access back to his neurons that he remains frozen in place. It brings a smile to Peter’s face, pride making him feel merciful. He ducks down to kiss Tony, the filfthiest interlocking of lips that can’t even be called a kiss because of the aggression and harshness it holds.

There’s little time between the next class, most likely Beck will reprimand him for being late in front of a hundred classmates if he takes too long. Time to bring out the big guns.

“You either touch me, repeat after me and I get you off or you don’t even graze me and your only help will be your right hand. Either way, I’m fine, aren’t I?” Because your pleasure is a footnote, an afterthought that I couldn’t care less about. You’re merely an instrument, a tool and not even a very good one.

Peter is grateful his lover can read between the lines. “Please, please let me touch you, Peter.” Oh, crap, he didn’t expect the pleading voice, the desperate edge lining a high pitched whine.

“Say you’re my needy little bitch.” Go big or go home.

“I’m your needy,” he grinds down again, this time for a bit longer, “ little bitch. All yours, Peter. ”

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” If he croons it out, nobody has to know. “You can touch my chest and only my chest.”

Immediately, hands are pushing his shirt up, caressing the narrow expanse between his shoulders, swooping down to scratch at a shivering navel, tracing random designs on his ribs. But they’re not random. Not at all.

Yours.

“Say you belong to me, Tony. My own cockstupid whore.” Lips gently press against the left side of his heaving chest, against his heart and thank God for romantic lovers in need of a dominant partner. When Tony repeats the words, it sounds like a prayer, like he’s accepting that damnation is also salvation. Like he sees Peter as his own god.

“I’m yours, Peter. Just a cockstupid whore that wanted you to take control. That’s all I am.” If a therapist heard that, he has a feeling they wouldn’t a lie in that statement.

And it’s true. But it’s also wrong.

“You’re more than that, Tony.” He flinches, looks at Peter with such wide, pleading eyes he doesn’t know how anyone could ever think it possible to hurt such a precious thing.

“You’re not just a whore. You’re my good boy.” Peter shamelessly comes on a three hundred dollar suit when Tony sobs, curls inward and mouths the words incessantly.

Goodboygoodboygoodboygoodboy

The aftershocks have him reeling, toes still curling in his high heels and mind too far away to notice a phone ringing.

“Peter, Peter, please.” The begging snaps him out of it, draws reality back in. If his refractory period were better, he’d be rock hard at the sight Tony makes. Hair askew, cheeks flushed, bottom lip bleeding, eyes teary, neck a collage of scratches and bruises. The man looks debauched.

Ruined. And Peter did that. He wants to do it again. But it’s not his job to be nice.

Staring right at Tony, he fishes out his phone, accepts the call without even looking at the contact name. “Yeah?”

“Peter! Guess what,” he’s not actually given time to guess, “Beck ate some old cafeteria food and got sick so we’re free for the day! The Dean said Beck might have to stay home for two weeks. We could check out that new movie at, hey, come on, MJ.”

“Hey, dork.”

“Hey, MJ.”

“You with him?”

“Uh-huh.”

Beneath him, Tony tries to hold back a new round of tears when he starts rocking again. He’s, fortunately, unsuccessful.

“Cool. I put a bag of wipes and some extra clothes in your backbag. Snacks and Gatorade, too.”

Peter blinks, stops moving and thinks back to the beginning of lunch when MJ said she had to go to the bathroom. MJ wouldn’t touch the campus bathroom with a ten foot pole and a hazmat suit.

“Did you-”

“Anyway, Betty owes me twenty bucks and a date now, so we’ll go to the mall while Ned and Flash lose at the arcade. Text later, dork.” The call ends.

Grinning like a mad scientist, Peter swivels back to Tony, head full of ideas that he hopes will get some more tears from this gorgeous, ridiculous man.

“You’ll never guess what happened.”

His lover muffles a scream on Peter’s shoulder while he’s busy laughing.

—————

They may not be clear on who has what percentage of blame, but a year later, Peter and Tony’s wedding invitations say, “The Parker-Stark wedding, courtesy of one Ned Leeds’ dare”.


End file.
